


Drop The Anchor

by eSQuses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eSQuses/pseuds/eSQuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we bury the obvious because it is too hard to face. Emma’s reflects on the decisions she has made, while Regina listens. Perhaps, hope is not yet dead. Set near the end of 5a.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop The Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off 'Love in the Hard Times' by Jars of Clay. Not necessary listening, but seeing as it inspired this little one-shot, I would recommend it. After hearing it, I couldn't shake this scenario from my thoughts. It was very cathartic to finally write it. I hope you enjoy reading and, as always, your comments are appreciated. :)

Blue skies, drowsy eyes. Emma sat on the bench staring out over the smooth lake; nothing to break the stillness except the smallest ripple. Her eyes scanned the horizon anxiously. Killian had taken Henry out for a sailing lesson hours ago. They were spending more time together recently. Emma didn’t know what she thought of that arrangement. She should be fine with it. After all, it was only a matter of weeks until she and Killian were engaged.  
  
Every time she caught his eyes on her, she told herself to be happy, but she wasn’t. The longer they were together, the heavier the weight on her shoulders grew. Questions hounded her until she didn’t even seek the answers anymore. Acceptance is a fickle friend, even to a Swan used to going it alone.  
  
Emma pulled her beanie further down over wild, blonde curls. Days like these made her wonder what she was still fighting for. Normalcy was hard to pinpoint after the past few years. The day Henry knocked on her door, the world tilted on its axis, dipping teasingly, before flipping upside down.  
  
The funny thing about life is we can never go back to who we were before – that person doesn’t exist anymore. Yesterday’s Emma lived once, a lonely bail-bondswoman in a Boston apartment. She traced the number 205 on her palm like she had with every new home she encountered. Many invisible engravings showing the steps towards home. 

  


36, 15, 7, 21, 82, 64, 205, 3, 311…

  


Soon another number would be added to the list burning on her palm like a bad memory, a place that was not quite home. Not yet. Emma clenched her fist and pressed it against her stomach. It was churning again, like the waves far out in the lake, black and fierce.  
  
The sun was setting quickly - red and angry in the sky. Why weren’t they back yet? It had been five hours. Surely that was long enough for one day.  
  
Footsteps echoed on the dock. Emma twisted around to see Regina walking up the stretch. The woman seemed restless, searching for something. A pang of regret struck Emma in the gut. Lately the mayor always had that lost expression on her face, as if the world had failed her and she was seeking a better one. In a sense, it had and she was.  
  
The brunette didn’t seem to see her, but walked past in a daze. When she reached the end of the dock, she stopped, digging her hands in the pockets of her long, dark coat, and watched the sky darken over the lake. She was so motionless, Emma wondered if she should speak or announce her presence somehow to break her from her stupor.  
  
But the blonde was enjoying her silence. Instead of filling the gaps, she leaned back and watched the woman on the end of the dock. Scattered memories flitted through her brain featuring Regina, as a mother, as a mayor, as a friend. Their relationship had evened out lately, still a push and shove, but not angry or bitter, just their now predictable tension.  
  
Emma shifted in her spot, her boot accidentally hitting the metal support on the bench. Regina swirled around, fear replacing fleeting sorrow in her eyes. As her vision cleared, she saw Emma with a guilty puppy look on her face. It took only a few steps to reach the blonde.  
  
“I’m sorry, Miss Swan. I didn’t see you there. I’ll leave.”  
  
“No – please stay, Regina.”  
  
She paused, concern painting her face, “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Waiting for Henry. He had a sailing lesson with – Killian.”  
  
Regina’s eyes burned, “You let that _filthy_ pirate take my son out on the lake _alone_?”  
  
Emma’s head drooped.  
  
“I’m – sorry. Scolding you was unnecessary.”  
  
“You’re right though,” Emma shook her head, “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t made these choices.”  
  
Regina sat down beside her, “Which choices? Henry?”  
  
“No, I could never regret Henry.”  
  
Green eyes grew pale and distant, mirroring the foaming waves crashing against the dock.  
  
“I was so desperate, you know, so ready when he came. I thought – I didn’t think, I just acted. He promised me so much. He – he sold his ship for me, I thought that meant something.”  
  
“It did.”  
  
Piercing brown eyes met Emma’s turbulent green. She tried to read the expression hidden in them. It was coded, like a map she didn’t have time to explore.  
  
“If it meant something, then why am I so empty?”  
  
“There are a lot of things in life that mean something, Emma, but not all of them are right for you.”  
  
Emma almost smiled at the simplicity of Regina’s words. It was too easy. Everything felt complicated now. How could her existence be wrapped up and tied with a bow so simply? If anybody knew the pain of this struggle though, it would be Regina.  
  
Regina knew what it was like to need that attention, to have her heart torn by the claws of unreason. Emma felt a twinge of guilt remembering the betrayal clouding Regina’s features the night she brought Marian back. Regina had seemed so happy with Robin.  
  
“Did you think Robin was right for you?”  
  
It was a simple question, but the brunette recoiled, a thousand untold stories on her lips. Robin was – well, he was unexpected. Regina had bought the lie there was no happy ending left in the pages of Henry’s storybook for her. Villains don’t get happy endings had been the mantra of her destiny.  
  
Robin had led her to a place where that lie was shattered. She had watched the life she knew crumble under the weight of hope. So no, perhaps Robin was not right for her, but he, like everybody else, had his place and time in her story.  
  
“No,” Regina smiled sadly at Emma, “he was not right for me. He was a thief with misguided intentions. I played the game, Emma, because I wanted him to be right. I fell in love with the idea of having a future, finding hope in the darkness. I learned falling in love with an idea only tears you apart inside, because we crave more than ideas.”  
  
The blonde nodded, absorbing the words like rain on an arid desert. Regina’s words rang true. When you are so desperate you will take anyone who makes you believe for a moment you are worth something, you fall for a shadow when you are starving for the reality.  
  
“Are you sorry?”  
  
“Sorry I loved and lost? Perhaps, yes. Sorry Robin will never be mine? No, not really. Fate is a cruel hand to be dealt.”  
  
“But he was destined to be your soulmate…”  
  
Regina pursed her lips, “No, I don’t think he was. Soulmates aren’t decided by fallible fairy dust and moonlight glinting through a roof. Or – ” she caught Emma’s probing gaze, “ – who fights for you the longest, or sacrifices worldly possessions for you. They’re decided by connection and love.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” Emma confessed.  
  
A tilting head and a questioning look prompted her to continue.  
  
“I mean – who is going to want all this?” Tears filled Emma’s eyes, burning with honesty, not ready to release. She ducked her head to hide the emotion she didn’t want to feel.  
  
“Somebody will want it. Somebody will want to fight for you – for all of you.”  
  
“You have more hope than me.”  
  
“I know it doesn't feel possible - ” Regina recalled the irony of who spoke those very same words to her, “ – but you didn’t come this far to give up now.”  
  
The blonde wove her hands in knots, smoothing worried fingers over knuckles and palms. A tidal wave of possibilities threatened to crash over her, but Regina’s words began to cut through, a rock in uncertainty. So, Emma did what Emma always did around the woman on the bench. She deflected.  
  
“Regina – I really want you to find your happy ending. You deserve that more than anybody I know.”  
  
“Sometimes, I think our happy endings are closer than we know. Close enough to touch, close enough to breathe in. We just don’t see them, or we don’t want to see them.”  
  
The tidal wave crashed, soaking the blonde in a cacophony of what ifs and memories. It was too much to absorb at once, and Emma’s face went blank, as she stared at the quiet water in front of her. So different from the storm inside.  
  
“Emma?”  
  
Blonde hair caught the growing moonlight. She turned; a broken angel in the shadow of a ship. But isn’t that just it – so many broken angels lost behind shadows, pulled by anchors they cannot see. The reality is that holding on to anchors can do one of two things. It can secure us and keep us from drifting, or it can drown us.  
  
Emma held onto her anchor so tightly. She wrapped herself around the hard metal, not noticing the bitter burn against her flesh. And, as the ship began to sail, she sank into something that was not her.  
  
So weary – so worn – from playing the game. When it all comes to shore, ships are left behind, sails are lowered. No compass to guide us, no mast to secure us, we become less of a crew, and more of individuals.  
  
It’s scary. Terrifying to find yourself alone when you are used to being a team, but sometimes alone is the best place to be. When we are alone, we find each ourselves. We have time to discover who the real us is, deep inside, below all the layers of need and want. Who are you? Who am I? What might we be together?  
  
Regina felt a pull to the woman who sat two feet away, her arms wrapped protectively around jean clad legs, chin resting on her knees. This was not new to her.  
  
This was years ago and a timid hi on a dark night. This was apples offered to a confused blonde in a rented room. This was a red leather sheriff smirking at her, as she fingered her badge, her key to staying in Storybrooke. This was the mother of her son turning her world upside down. Their journey began there, challenging each other, confronting each other, unable to deny the magnetism between them.  
  
All is fair in love and war, but love and war are not, in themselves, fair.  
  
“Emma, you don’t have to live like this.”  
  
“I asked for this, I have to live with it.”  
  
Regina’s eyes burned charcoal, words spewing from her mouth before she could stop them, “When did you ever ask to be treated like I’ve seen him treat you – like an object, instead of a person? This isn’t right. You’re worth more, Emma.”  
  
“He has the ring. I saw it.”  
  
The white slope of a sail came into sight. Emma squinted, making out the shape of a pirate on the bow of the boat. In her memories is that all she would see? A blur of black, a glint of silver, and the weight in her heart making her doubt who she was.  
  
In the future would she regret this? Regret not taking perhaps the only opportunity that would come her way. Neal was a young love’s dream, Graham was a could have been, Hook was nothing but a distracting scheme to tear her away from herself.  
  
Regina’s eyes dropped closed, as she sorted the thoughts and emotions that raged through her. Emma had resigned herself to that life, resigned herself to a man who used her as a pawn for his ego. Everything in her yearned to let the buried words escape, but Emma would likely push her away. Here’s one last bleeding hurrah to the battles they had fought, against each other and with each other. Emma Swan had been a formidable foe and a superfluous ally. Regina decided to take the chance - almost sure it would bear rejection.  
  
"I'll fight for you."  
  
The words were out before the night fully fell, before the ship docked. Even the circling seagulls seemed to pause in their flight at the sound. Emma sucked in a breath, hopeful and anxious.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I should have spoken months ago - years even - but I will fight for you, Emma Swan, until the stars drown in darkness and the sun no longer dares to rise. I will never stop fighting for you."  
  
A warm hand slid into hers, squeezing gently, crossing battle lines.  
  
After everything, all the quarrels, the threats, the anger, she was still reaching out. Emma couldn’t contain the flood any longer. Hot tears slid down her cheeks. The faster they fell, the more comfort Regina’s hand seemed to bring.  
  
The brunette shifted closer, and brushed a few stray tears from pale skin. Her eyes were deep and welcoming. This should be awkward. This should feel wrong. Instead, Emma felt peace flooding her, warming every corner of her heart. She never knew – no, that was a lie. She never let herself feel how much she wanted this.  
  
Like a child, longing for a home they have never known, Emma curled towards Regina.  
  
“Hold me.”  
  
She didn’t have to be told twice. Pulling the weary body towards hers, she gripped onto shoulder and thigh, daring to kiss the falling tears away. Her heart was exploding with relief. She had dreamed of moments like this. For once in her life, a secret dream blossomed into a reality.  
  
The blonde leaned against Regina’s shoulder and let her breathing soften, evening out, “How long have you felt this way?”  
  
“I indulged the idea for a long time, but you were untouchable. It would have been murder for the mayor to fall for the saviour. I couldn’t – I couldn’t do that to you.”  
  
Emma’s bottom lip trembled, and oh how Regina wanted to kiss her until it stilled, but the brunette held back, respecting Emma’s space.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d care,” the blonde confessed, “I tried to hurt you with him. I wanted to be happy to spite you.”  
  
“Was that actually the reason, or was that what you told yourself to justify it?”  
  
Emma let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, “I suppose I wanted to make you jealous.”  
  
“You succeeded. _I_ wanted _you_.”  
  
Regina pressed a lingering kiss to Emma’s forehead, “I still want you.”  
  
“Do you? Even after all this?”  
  
“I never stopped wanting you.”  
  
The silence following her confession was deafening. Even the waves beating against the dock seemed to hush their frantic fury to hear her words.  
  
“Good, because I want you too.”  
  
They broke apart, as the darkness was sliced by a white sail. Emma slid her beanie back into position on her head, and stood up, ready to welcome them back. Regina watched her anxiously, knowing how hard the next few minutes would be.  
  
Emma’s face was white, still boasting tracks where the tears had marked her skin. Would it be better to leave? Let Emma explain alone, let the pirate rage on his newest sailing prize, and then, like a knight in shining armour, come roaring back for her. Regina balked at the thought. She couldn’t fathom leaving Emma on the dock alone. She looked so young there. The moon casting long shadows behind her thin form.  
  
What would be better for Emma? She was about to voice the question when the blonde caught her hand and pulled her close.  
  
“Stay with me – please?”  
  
“I’m not leaving,” Regina reassured, emotion thick in her voice. Her answer was sealed.  
  
Henry leaped off the sailboat first, and set about tying it off. He glanced to his mothers, smiling at the sight of both their faces. Then, he registered their joined hands. His eyes darted to Regina’s, then Emma’s, and back down. A sly grin spread across his face.  
  
Regina’s heart leapt at the sight. A contented warmth spread through her. Henry accepted it – immediately – his face had even brightened at their position. Emma’s hand squeezed quickly, and Regina shot her a smile. It was going to be okay.  
  
Hook stepped off the sailboat. A smug look settled on his face as he approached Emma, unable, or unwilling, to see their joined hands in the darkness.  
  
“Good day, love. Sorry, we were delayed a bit – ”  
  
“I – I need to talk to you,” Emma stepped forward, tucking Regina’s hand behind her.  
  
“Alright,” the pirate sprawled on the bench, and nodded for her to sit down, “talk, Swan.”  
  
Regina was glued to her back, her hand still snug in Emma’s grasp, feeding her courage. Emma sat on the edge of the bench well out of the pirate’s reach. Regina stood behind her, resisting the urge to touch the blonde’s shoulder, or rub her back in reassurance.  
  
“The thing is, I don’t want this anymore.”  
  
“You don’t want what?”  
  
“Us. I don’t want us anymore. I want to move on.”  
  
The pirate scowled, his eyes finally adjusting to the moonlight. He caught sight of Regina’s hand moving slowly up and down Emma’s arm in support.  
  
“With _her_!?” he spat the words like a deadly poison, “You’re leaving me for pure evil? What madness is this, Swan? Tell me this is a lie!”  
  
Henry whipped down the dock. Hook’s words ignited something inside him. His mother was many things – he had seen her strength, her brokenness, her conflict – but now, she was anything but evil.  
  
“Stop!”  
  
Hook barely turned his head to watch the running boy.  
  
“My Mom is good, she has saved even you from curses. You have no right to call her evil, and you have no right to demand Ma stays with you. I don’t care what anybody thinks. I don’t care if you send the whole flipping town pounding on our door seeking blood after this, I _will_ stand by my family and you _will_ walk away.”  
  
Hook whirled on him, leaping off the bench and standing over the kid. Henry didn’t budge, but glared up at him with the fire of a dragon. Time fled in that moment, leaving the boy and the pirate staring at each other, one fighting for self, one fighting for his mother’s freedom.  
  
But the boy knew something the pirate didn’t. The boy knew that acts of true love triumph, and he believed in the two women connected on the bench. That was enough. The stronger he believed, the weaker the pirate’s resolution grew, until it was nothing but a spark of hopelessness.  
  
Knowing his battle must be lost, he slunk away, off to his boat. Before long, the darkness swallowed him up. And there, on the dock, held in Regina’s arms with Henry pressed against her, Emma felt release. The weight of the anchor she carried loosened. It felt so real now. She saw it for what it really was.  
  
She was aware of the frozen metal burning her skin, aware of the way it dragged her like a siren afraid to sing.  
  
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Emma confessed, the dusky light hiding the anxious flush on her cheeks.  
  
“You’re coming with us.”  
  
Henry hugged both his mothers tightly, “We’re going home.”  
  


* * *

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t time.  
  
Regina’s mind warred with her body. The bathroom door remained shut, a slip of light across the ledge to remind her of the life inside.  
  
She could lie down and close her eyes, let sleep gradually seep into her tired mind. That wouldn’t be fair to Emma though. Tonight had been difficult for both of them. Words had been exchanged that neither of them could take back. The air between them had shifted, less of a breeze and more like a hurricane.  
  
Regina ran her fingers over the soft duvet cover, grounding herself in a sense of home, because when that door opened much would change. So many doors had changed them. The one she ran through to wrap her arms around a little boy who claimed a new identity. The one Emma opened in a tank top and underwear to her rival face. The one Emma knocked on, feeling the tremble of a broken woman on the other side. The one now glaring at her from across the room.  
  
_Open_. Regina’s fist curled, tensing and releasing, holding the power to swing Emma to her side at any moment. She refused. Their relationship would be built on trust, not immediacy. Emma could have her space. Emma could have her time. Regina would wait – years, if need be. Goodness knows she already had.  
  
The light under the door vanished, and silent wonderings were replaced by a squeaking hinge. Emma shuffled out in Regina’s pajama pants and her tank top. Her eyes still distant, but clear green, like the clovers Regina used to hunt as a child.  
  


* * *

“Regina?” I barely hear her whisper.  
  
I pat the bed beside me. She comes, like a worried child, her body settling lightly next to mine.  
  
“Regina, I’m sorry - ”  
  
“For what?”  
  
For an instant, that stormy green returns, and I want to quench it. I want to clear it from those eyes. It reminds me too much of the sea, of hurt, of him.  
  
“Everything. Refusing to see what could have been, the road we could have taken.”  
  
I take her hand, as I’ve been craving to, “Just sleep, Emma.”  
  
Tugging her down beside me, I crawl under the sheets, exhaustion trumping everything else. Sweet warmth surrounds us. She inches back into me, and I tentatively wrap one arm around her. She pulls it closer, still holding my hand in hers. And now, we are melded together, and it’s perfect and peaceful and _right_.  
  
I take stock of the situation, smiling widely. I’m spooning Emma Swan, Sheriff of Storybrooke, mother of my son. I nudge her back with my nose, and plant a gentle kiss on the base of her neck. A guttural sigh ripples through the body tucked in front of me. I form a line, moving diagonally up to her ear. Every kiss rewarding me with a sweet little sound, or movement, or a squeeze of the hand she is holding.  
  
“You said sleep,” she mutters - a comment, not a complaint.  
  
“Okay,” I agree. She relaxes in my arms, the strain of the day seeming to ease at every touch. Oh, but sweetheart, imagine how much I could ease.  
  
My hand slides up from her stomach, cupping a soft breast. She doesn’t speak, or move. I decide this is an invitation to continue. I resume my attack on her neck, leaving perfectly aimed kisses on every inch of skin I can reach. I squeeze her breast, rolling it in my hand, and rubbing over a hardening nipple.  
  
And now she moves, not away, but closer.  
  
I can feel her curving into me, fuelling the fire that has been building since – since I can remember. Always there, always present. Now it is not suppressed, but raging. She is feeding it. Her leg slips around mine, pulling it higher – higher still.  
  
“Emma?”  
  
I didn’t expect an answer. None came.  
  
“Emma, I need you to talk to me.”  
  
“No – talking,” a hand covers the one resting on her breast, squeezing, prompting.  
  
I slip mine from under it and pull her around until she is facing me.  
  
“Listen to me. I _will_ not use you. I am stopping now unless you verbally tell me you want this, and mean it.”  
  
Her lips curve upwards in a soft smile, “I do.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“More than anything.”  
  
I surge forward, capturing pink lips in mine, tasting heaven for the first time. And the spark that started on that night so long ago, turning into a flame over time and space, kindling a fire deep inside both of us, becomes a bonfire, raging and pulling us closer to its heat.  
  
There are no words for this. Nothing can describe this connection, this oneness that surges through the air. Nothing can describe the way she feels by me and on me and in me. Nothing can describe the overwhelming emotions my heart harboured in those blissful hours I spent loving Emma. Nothing will ever touch this – this sultry, sweet security of falling asleep sated and holding the one who was created to break my curse, to hold my heart.  
  


* * *

My body and mind tingle deliciously with the aftershocks of last night. I gaze at her, not with the hunger of the night before, but with a look of gentle awe and respect. Memorizing the sight, so I can remember.  
  
Remember her like Daniel on that day so long ago before we had to say goodbye. Remember her like my father’s affection and pride as I rode bareback around the corral. Remember her like Henry’s face the last time he said he loved me. When all is gone, memories are all that remains.  
  
I want - I need to remember this. If I fail, if she leaves, I need to know this moment happened.  
  
Emma’s face is nuzzled against my arm, seeking warmth. Light freckles dot her skin. I never paused before, never studied the patterns I now trace with my eyes. I want to trace them with my finger, touch her, kiss her, but I do not dare wake her that way. Not I, not the queen. The queen could not adore the Saviour. It was unfathomable, unacceptable. Oh, but she did, but I do.  
  
I push the blanket down gently, revealing more skin I had felt, more than seen, in the darkness last night. _Oh, Emma, you are so beautiful. ___  
  
I shift, ever so slowly, till I am curled on my side, her head cradled against my shoulder, blonde hair spread across the pillow. I would be lying to say I had not dreamed of moments like this. I slide my arm behind her, inching her closer until no air exists between us. Holding onto this moment and, for one hour, imagining this was reality. Before she wakes.  
  
Every moment feels miraculous now. I slowly brush a strand of hair from Emma’s face, sucking in my breath, as she snuggles deeper into my arms, but does not stir. My hand dares to slide further, down her shoulder, over tight muscles, and smooth skin, brushing ribs and abs and…  
  
_I could get used to this._  
  
_No, no you can’t._  
  
My temptation gets the better of me and I push the sheets further down and drink in all of Emma, seeing – _truly seeing_ – for the first time. All of her. All hers to give. All mine.  
  
And like the sun rises out of darkness, like the phoenix rises from the ashes, like the night is swallowed up in victory by the day, she awakes.  
  
I can’t describe it, the way the sun dances across her face. I was searching for those stormy seas, for that maddening frothy green to swallow me, to scream like sirens from their depths. I was waiting for her to tear her skin from mine, ripping off the bandage quickly, with the knowledge the pain would last and last. I was anticipating words I didn’t want to hear falling on my ears like the drums of another approaching battle.  
  
Already, my heart has locked these memories in its centre, protecting the past while terrified of the future. You scoff, I hear you, peasant. You scoff at the Queen who has waited for years to be loved by her Saviour, but this cannot be. It must be a mirage in my heart. It must be a dream.  
  
Because, today, the seas are not stormy. They are meadows again, calm and peaceful and dancing with sunlight. She does not pull, does not tear away and it’s good - her skin pressed against mine has become my oxygen. I don’t hear, I don’t see, I feel, I _breathe_.  
  
Emma’s legs entangle themselves hopelessly with mine, her arms stretching aimlessly from their crushed positions to wrap around my body. No words come, just her lips brushing across my skin, soothing away the anxiety. She reaches my lips, and pours herself into a bruising kiss. And I know, this is what love feels like.  
  
After the fights and the harsh words and the thousand times we have saved each other, after our enmity and our friendship and our losses and our gains. I have fought a thousand fears to hide in your arms.  
  
Just as we drift back towards sleep, I feel her finger brush against my skin, drawing digits on my back. My eyes are closed, as I visualize what they must be, and it hits me – the significance not apparent to me, but by the way she holds me tighter, it is vital to her.  
  
I feel her smile drowsily, her face buried in my neck, and the numbers read:  
  
36, 15, 7, 21, 82, 64, 205, 3, 311…108.


End file.
